Free The Dark Thorn by Shawn Speakman Page A

that cat with three quic—”
    “And kill the rest of us!”
    “Boghoggery, settle down, Red!” Snedeker grumped, launching from the rose blossom and flying toward her. “I won’t actually kill the cat.”
    “Wait right there,” Deirdre said, observing her fairy friend closer. “You are entirely too happy. And your little pack looks to be a burden. What do you have?”
    Guilt crossed the fairy’s wooden features.
    “Nothing!”
    “You lie,” she said. “I can always tell when you lie.”
    “Are you sure you aren’t a witch?”
    “Out with it!”
    Annoyance crossing his face, Snedeker pulled a ruby the size of a thumbnail from the sack on his back.
    “Where did you get that?!”
    “From the coach that brought that pompous burned ass! It was encrusted with them and other jewels.” He hefted the ruby. “This one was mostly loose anyway, Red. Mostly. Isn’t it beautiful, how the sun…”
    Deirdre ignored the rest of what the fairy said. It was the only way she kept from throttling him. If the High King knew a member of the Tuatha de Dannan was within the Reach, it would spell certain doom for them all. She might be bringing war to her father’s kingdom, but at least it would be on her terms and not that of a thieving fairy.
    “You must put it back. Now.”
    “I think not,” the fairy said quickly. “They are leaving. And besides, I have merely borrowed it.”
    “Knowing you, you’ve borrowed it until its owners are long dead and dust.”
    “Just so.”
    Deirdre sighed. “The damage is done. Give it to a family with many children in town. Don’t let them see you. By giving it away, I hope you learn a lesson.”
    The fairy didn’t budge, hovering in midair.
    “Snedeker…”
    “All right, all right. Swampmutton.”
    As the fairy flew away, his shoulders a bit slumped, Deirdre looked up at the mountains that grew at Mochdrev Reach’s northern border and thought about what the shade of her mother had said. The line of jagged peaks known as the Snowdon burst from the older, rounded hills of the Carn Cavall, not unlike the emotions that swirled within her. Her mother had been a powerful witch before she died; she knew much of what was to come. The vision of the Tuatha de Dannan dead on the battlefield could mean only one thing—the fey had chosen to fight Caer Llion. And the man Deirdre would fall in love with? It couldn’t be Philip Plantagenet. But who? Another outworlder? The man holding her in the vision? And more importantly: when would this come to pass?
    It no longer mattered, she thought. And it no longer mattered what the High King of Annwn, his advisor, or even her father wished. Deirdre knew she would rather die than succumb to a boot heel, particularly one from Caer Llion.
    Because the Tuatha de Dannan felt the same.
    Deirdre turned back to the Rosemere. Its waters were at peace but she was not. Those who knew her knew that when her mind was made up, nothing would change it. Stubborn like an ox bull, her father often said. He was right. No one was going to tell her what to do, especially a man who had proclaimed himself High King long ago and would use that power to steal Deirdre away from all she knew and loved.
    She would not let it happen—come what may for Mochdrev Reach and those who lived within its walls. She had to stand and fight, no matter the consequences. No matter where that stand would take her.
    Deirdre left to find her father.
    Lord Gerallt would be the first to know.

 

    With a cascade thundering behind him, Richard sat on the edge of the Waterfall Garden Park pool in contemplative reflection, waiting for the tourists and vagabonds to leave.
    It would not be long now.
    Mist from the falls swirled at his back, icy and persistent, but he barely felt it. The events of the previous night played over and over in his mind, lead chains weighing on him. The fairies from the portal had attacked Merle’s assistant, cajoling a cu sith into dastardly service. If Richard had not